Titus Andronicus

from old Andronicus,
Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.
Ah, Rome! Well, well; I made thee miserable
What time I threw the people’s suffrages
On him that thus doth tyrannize o’er me.
Go, get you gone; and pray be careful all,
And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch’d:
This wicked emperor may have shipp’d her hence;
And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice. Marcus

O Publius, is not this a heavy case,
To see thy noble uncle thus distract?

Publius

Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns
By day and night to attend him carefully,
And feed his humour kindly as we may,
Till time beget some careful remedy.

Marcus

Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy.
Join with the Goths; and with revengeful war
Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude,
And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.

Titus

Publius, how now! how now, my masters!
What, have you met with her?

Publius

No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word,
If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall:
Marry, for Justice, she is so employ’d,
He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else,
So that perforce you must needs stay a time.

Titus

He doth me wrong to feed me with delays.
I’ll dive into the burning lake below,
And pull her out of Acheron by the heels.
Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we,
No big-boned men framed of the Cyclops’ size;
But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back,
Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear:
And, sith there’s no justice in earth nor hell,
We will solicit heaven and move the gods
To send down Justice for to wreak our wrongs.
Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus; He gives them the arrows.
“Ad Jovem,” that’s for you: here, “Ad Apollinem:”
“Ad Martem,” that’s for myself:
Here, boy, to Pallas: here, to Mercury:
To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine;
You were as good to shoot against the wind.
To it, boy! Marcus, loose when I bid.
Of my word, I have written to effect;
There’s not a god left unsolicited.

Marcus

Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court:
We will afflict the emperor in his pride.

Titus

Now, masters, draw. They shoot. O, well said, Lucius!
Good boy, in Virgo’s lap; give it Pallas.

Marcus

My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon;
Your letter is with Jupiter by this.

Titus

Ha, ha!
Publius, Publius, what hast thou done?
See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus’ horns.

Marcus

This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot,
The Bull, being gall’d, gave Aries such a knock
That down fell both the Ram’s horns in the court;
And who should find them but the empress’ villain?
She laugh’d, and told the Moor he should not choose
But give them to his master for a present.

Titus Why, there it goes: God give his lordship joy! Enter a Clown, with a basket, and two pigeons in it.

News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come.
Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters?
Shall I have justice? what says Jupiter?

Clown O, the gibbet-maker! he says that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hanged till the next week. Titus But what says Jupiter, I ask thee? Clown Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all my life. Titus Why, villain, art not thou the carrier? Clown Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else. Titus Why, didst thou not come from heaven? Clown From heaven! alas, sir, I never came there: God forbid I should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the emperial’s men. Marcus Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for your oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to the emperor from you. Titus Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the emperor with a grace? Clown Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life. Titus

Sirrah, come hither: make no more ado,
But give your pigeons to the emperor:
By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.
Hold, hold; meanwhile here’s money for thy charges.
Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplication?

Clown Ay, sir. Titus Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to him, at the first approach you must kneel, then kiss his foot, then deliver up your pigeons, and then look for your reward. I’ll be at hand, sir; see you do it bravely. Clown I warrant you, sir, let me alone. Titus

Sirrah, hast thou a knife? come, let me see it.
Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration;
For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant.
And when thou hast given it the emperor,
Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.

Clown God be with you, sir; I will. Titus Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me. Exeunt.

Scene IV

The same. Before the palace.

Enter Saturninus, Tamora, Demetrius, Chiron, Lords, and others; Saturninus with the arrows in his hand that Titus shot.

Saturninus

Why, lords, what wrongs are these! was ever seen An emperor in Rome thus overborne, Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent Of egal justice, used in such contempt? My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods, However these disturbers of our peace Buz in the people’s ears, there nought hath pass’d, But even with law, against the wilful sons Of old Andronicus. And what an if His sorrows have so overwhelm’d his wits, Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks, His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness? And now he writes to heaven for his redress: See, here’s to Jove, and this to Mercury; This to Apollo; this to the god of war; Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome! What’s this but libelling against the senate, And blazoning our injustice every where? A goodly humour, is it not, my lords? As who would say, in Rome no justice were. But if I live, his feigned ecstasies Shall be no shelter to these outrages: But he and his shall know that justice lives In Saturninus’ health, whom, if she